


Wait, You're What Now?!

by Quakey (Quak3y)



Category: Cable and Deadpool, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, misuse of poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 19:14:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14625252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quak3y/pseuds/Quakey
Summary: Scott never did like Deadpool.  Wade discovers he has a soft spot for Nate being romantic.





	Wait, You're What Now?!

**Author's Note:**

> Possibly not canon compliant on the fine points of timeline and who is alive and what buildings are still standing at the same time. I don’t care. I wanted to torment Scott and roll around in Cablepool feels, so that’s what I did.

Nate is at the X-Mansion, because the X-Men are having a party and the younger people are having a dance, and he was invited. And he in turn invited Wade because …. _Because_. Because there was free food and Wade thought Terry might be there. And other people he knows. And he looked so _dejected_ when he thought his friends were having a party and he couldn’t go see them.

And when they arrived, Scott and Emma and the other older ones looking askance because _what the heck_ Nate!? Deadpool?!? There’s a room set up with music and dancing. Another area spread with snacks and drinks and beer. The younger kids and teens are dancing indoors. Nate is watching, fondly, leaning against the wall, hands in his pants pockets.

Wade sidles over, beer in hand. Leans against the wall next to Nate, shoulders almost touching. He’s in civvies, ball cap firmly on his head, posture slouched and shoulders hunched to hide his face, and long sleeves. Nate’s as close to civilian clothes as he ever gets, which really means his normal big-ass coat, boots, tight pants and shirt, but without the massive number of pouches and weapons. “They have things like this in the future?”

“Hmm? You mean parties and dances? Something like. The human spirit remains the same, no matter the century. But it’s a bit more … extravagant … here.”

Wade makes a hmm’ing sound. “Does that mean more or less twerking in the 39th or whatever century?”

A laugh. “Just different.” Then, “There’s not much recorded music, even in the cities. You might invite a few people who can play an instrument, someone with a good voice.”

“Live band, how classy. But still with the twerking?”

“Something like that,” noncommittally. “But when you were in the field, fighting…”

“Well, obviously not. Nothing like a disco ball and some block-shaking bass to give away your position.”

“Poetry,” Nate muses. “And stories.”

“Future man says what?”

“We would sometimes tell each other stories, to pass the time, in a barracks or around a campfire.”

“That sounds like great kumbaya team building material there. I may barf.”

Nate ignores the interruptions with the patience born of long practice and just continues.

“If you were trying to win someone’s heart, or just a place in their bedroll overnight, the more romantically inclined might resort to soft words and poetry.”

Wade snorts loudly and scoffs, “That is the cheesiest thing I have ever heard.”

Nate shoots a sideways look at Wade. Looks straight ahead. Clears his throat.

 _“About me, nothing worse_  
_they will tell you, my love,_  
_than what I told you._

 _“What more can they tell you?_  
_I am neither good nor bad but a man,_  
_and they will then associate the danger_  
_of my life, which you know_  
_and which with your passion you shared._

 _“And good, this danger_  
_is danger of love, of complete love_  
_for all life,_  
_for all lives,_  
_and if this love brings us_  
_the death and the prisons,_  
_I am sure that your big eyes,_  
_as when I kiss them,_  
_will then close with pride,_  
_into double pride, love,_  
_with your pride and my pride.”_  


He pauses to again glance sideways at Wade. Wade, whose mouth is hanging open in shock.

Wade tries to say something several times, clears his throat, finally softly says, “I see how that might work.”

The corners of Nate’s mouth crook upwards. “I’ll remember that the next time you’d rather watch TV than come to bed.”

Before Wade can protest blasphemy against televised video programming, Nate turns his eyes back out to the party and says calmly, “My father is watching us.”

Wade’s eyes flick across the dancing, quickly finds where Scott and Emma are sitting on a couch that’s pushed back to the wall, thighs pressed close together, fingers of one hand tangled, like it’s so easy for them to show affection without fearing anyone’s opinion. Emma is talking and laughing with another woman also seated on the couch, but Scott’s face is closed off and he appears to be looking straight at where his son and Wade are standing. It’s hard to tell through the glasses.

Wade takes a long pull off his bottle and says gruffly, “Want me to go somewhere else?”

“Of course not.”

“He kind of looks like you brought a bag of dog shit to the party instead of a friend.”

“My father,” Nate says in a precise, clipped tone, “can keep his opinions to himself.”

Wade grins and tips back the rest of his bottle. Then he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and says, “Did I just hear, ‘My father can go fuck himself’?”

Nate smirks conspiratorially. “That too.” Then he leans closer, pressing their shoulders together so he can speak in a soft voice near Wade’s ear, head turns slightly toward Wade but eyes holding Scott’s gaze across the room. “To slightly distort the original poet’s words...

 _“But to my ears they will come before_  
_to wear down the tour_  
_of the sweet and hard love which binds us,_  
_and they will say: “The one_  
_you love,_  
_is not a man for you,_  
_Why do you love him? I think_  
_you could find one more beautiful,_  
_more serious, more deep,_  
_more other, you understand me, look how he’s light,_  
_and what a head he has,_  
_and look at how he dresses,_  
_and etcetera and etcetera”._

 _“And I in these lines say:_  
_Like this I want you, love,_  
_love, Like this I love you”_

Nate can feel Wade’s shoulders hunch through the words, the shudder through their touching shoulders at the last lines, hears his breath gain a sharp edge. He turns his head to fully look at Wade.

Wade who is actually blushing across the rise of his cheekbones. Wade with pupils dark and filled with lust. Wade who is looking at him with single minded, fierce focus.

“I take it back, anything I said about poetry okay? Geeze Louise, Nate!” he hisses. “Unless you want the whole party to know about us, you need to either stop or we need to go somewhere else. Because one more of those and I’m going to start playing tonsil hockey with your face right in front of Cyclops.”

“Then,” Nate rumbles and straightens, putting the minimal socially acceptable distance between them again, “let us go somewhere else.” He steps away from the wall, then glances back at Wade. Wade who looks somehow disappointed, so he turns back and softly adds, “I don’t want to share you with the rest of them, not when they don’t appreciate you. They know you mean something to me, for me to bring you with me, here. But. I’m selfish, Wade. I don’t want them to know how much. I want to keep for myself the way you look when I kiss you.” His left eye flashes with amusement, head tilts as his mouth quirks mischievously. “Not to mention the way you look when I--”

“Okay!” Wade exclaims loudly, stepping away from the wall and grabbing Nate by the shoulder of his coat. “If I’m going to put up with this, I need another beer, ya big lunk.” He proceeds to drag an amused looking Nate away into the thick of the party, then elsewhere.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You’re staring,” Emma murmurs softly.

“I know,” Scott says, watching a noisy and gesticulating Wade Wilson aka Deadpool pulling his son toward some other place in the mansion. Nate looks amused, so he guesses it’s okay, but…

He gives her hand a gentle squeeze. “It’s just… Why? Of all the mutants and mutates and mercenaries out there, why _Deadpool_? I really don’t get why Nathan is friends with him. I don’t suppose you can read either of them?”

“You know I can’t. Nathan has himself shielded and Wade’s mind is…” she seems at a loss for words to adequately describe it. “Unpleasant. Like sinking in quicksand and breathing toxic gas and being blinded at the same time. Even brushing against it is… It’s beyond uncomfortable.”

Scott shakes his head in confusion. “I don’t understand. Nathan is a telepath. Why would he want something like that near him?”

Emma smiles a little. “I know sometimes you’d rather not have me in your head, peeking at your thoughts. I know almost all the others have resented me and the Professor at one time or another, that we can look if we want to. Perhaps it helps them be friends, that there’s no way for Nathan to do that.”

Scott just wordlessly shakes his head again.

He’s distracted by Bobby--the older one--flopping down on the couch next to them.

“Hey, Scott. Emma. Enjoying yourselves?” he grins.

Emma’s eyes crinkle in amusement. “ _I_ am. _Scott_ is spending all his time fretting.”

“I am not!” Scott protests weakly.

“What’s wrong?” Bobby jokes. “Are the kids being too reckless? Anyone underage getting into the beer? Kurt playing pranks?”

Scott sighs. Glares at Emma for bringing it up. Glances at Bobby. “I just find Nathan’s choice of company a bit odd. That’s all.”

“Cable?” Bobby looks around. “He was being a wallflower earlier with some guy. Looked kind of familiar, but I didn’t get a good look at him.”

“That guy,” Scott says uncomfortably, “was Wade Wilson. Deadpool?”

Bobby’s eyes get bigger and his mouth makes a silent ‘oh’. Then, “Okay, yeah. I guess he looked smaller standing next to Nate. They’re still … whatever they are? Even after Providence?”

“Yes, still friends,” Scott sighs.

“Friends? Or _friends_?” Bobby looks a little grossed out.

Scott looks at Bobby in confusion. It doesn’t help that Emma has started to crack up on the other side of him. “Uuh…”

“Come on, you remember. When we were attacking Providence? Deadpool dressing up in that Marvel Girl costume, saying he was going to distract Cable with his legs? I wasn’t sure if he was joking, nuts, or serious…” Bobby trails off, because Scott looks completely nauseated. “Sorry, I wouldn’t be thinking about it, except, you know … _gay_ is kind of on my mind these days.”

“Bobby, I _really_ didn’t need to remember-- To think of my son looking at--” Scott stops himselfs and drops his face into his hand with a sigh. Emma is now laughing so hard that a few people glance her way in curiosity.

“Hey, Bobby.” Scott looks up to find Kitty standing there. “My drink is getting warm,” she smiles, holding out a cup. “Cool it down for me?”

Bobby welcomes the distraction with a grin, taps the cup with a finger, and a sheen of frost instantly covers the outside. He stands, waves sheepishly at Scott and Emma. “Sorry for breaking your brain, Scott. I’m sure it’s nothing. Hey, Kitty, wanna dance?” And the two meander off together toward the younger people.

Emma has finally gotten herself under control, just smiles at Scott when he stands and excuses himself. He wanders a bit, thoughts bouncing all over and chaotic, before he finds Wolverine outside, smoking a cigar in the night.

“Logan,” he nods.

“Scott.”

“Have you--” He stops himself. “Did you--” Tries to tell himself not to meddle. Fails. “Did you see, or smell, where Nathan went?”

Logan cocks an eyebrow at him. “He and Wade came out here a while ago. Went off into the gardens. Free advice: leave them alone.”

Scott frowns. “Why?”

Logan actual hesitates for several seconds before he finally settles on, “Just trust me. Deadpool’s not exactly your cup of tea. They’ll come back this way eventually.”

Scott fumes internally at Logan’s avoidance but limits himself to, “You’re right, I don’t like him much. You two seem to get along better than average--what’s the appeal?”

The glow of Logan’s cigar brightens for a breath, Scott waits impatiently as Logan blows out the smoke. Away from Scott, so he can’t be annoying Logan too much.

“Wade is complicated,” Logan finally says. “He’s good at what he does and vicious about it.” A bit of a feral smile. “I respect that. He can also be batshit crazy and as hyperactive as a Blackbird full of cats on catnip. Intentionally annoying. And yeah, not going to win any beauty contests. But,” Logan hesitates again, “he means well. He tries to do the right thing. Although sometimes he fucks up massively.

He shrugs. “And I can’t kill him. So I just have to live with him.” Puffs on his cigar some more.

“And why Nathan tolerates him?”

A snort. “I’m not speculating, bub. Sure as hell not to you.”

This time the smoke does get blown Scott’s direction, which he takes as a pointed suggestion to go away.

Scott wanders for a bit. Finally finds a bench hidden from direct observation by shrubs and low light near one of the main paths back to the mansion. He figures there’s some chance Nate and Deadpool will come back this way.

Time drifts for a while, as do his thoughts. He thinks about training schedules, mission reports, threat assessments. About which students are doing well or need more help. About Emma. About Xavier. About Bobby and his crazy, disturbing ideas which Scott is _not thinking about_ because there’s no way. About Nathan.

He thinks about watching them earlier. The way Nathan was so perfectly, calmly, seriously _Nathan_ while Deadpool was obviously joking and poking fun with every word out of his mouth. The unease in Deadpool’s posture, the quiet confidence in Nathan’s. The way Nathan had leaned over to whisper in Deadpool’s ear. The shock and then intensity on the other’s face. What had that been about? The smile on Nathan’s face as Deadpool had pulled him away. He tries to imagine putting Deadpool on one of his teams. He shudders. He tries to imagine having a reasonable conversation with Deadpool. He shakes his head. The man is just so … crass. And vulgar. And unpredictable.

Suddenly he hears crunching steps on the gravel pathway, growing louder. He also hears a low rumble that sounds like Nate, then the slightly higher pitch of Deadpool.

“...not fair. You can break out all the sexy poetry and I’ve got nothing better than ‘violets are blue, roses are red, you tell me who, and I’ll make them dead.’”

A chuckle. “I like it. But maybe you’ll improve with exposure.”

“Does that mean you’ll keep doing that?” He sounds hopeful. Scott wonders why.

The crunch of one set of footsteps stops, then the other. Scott peers between the hydrangeas as unobtrusively as he can. It’s a bit obscured, but he can make out what’s going on.

Nathan seems to have paused and caught Deadpool’s arm, tugs him back toward him. Softly says, “Yes. I’ll find every poem I can that reminds me of you.”

Then he leans forward, one hand slipping behind the other’s head, and Deadpool pushes up, fingers wrapping possessively in the front of Nathan’s shirt, and Scott’s brain breaks.

The kiss lasts a long time. There is definitely a lot of tongue. When they finally move apart, there’s a contented, pleased sound from Deadpool. “You sure know how to make a guy feel special, Priscilla.” Scott’s broken brain considers having an aneurysm over _that_ pet name. “We are going to be having _so_ much sex.” Scott would gladly have knocked himself out to avoid hearing that.

“Indeed,” comes Nathan’s base rumble. “In that case, unless you truly want to go back to the party, why don’t we …” in as deadpan a voice as Scott’s ever heard, “ _blow_ this joint. Although perhaps we already did that.”

Scott really just wants to stab himself to make the pain stop.

Deadpool crows in delight. “Nathan Christopher Charles Summers Askani’son Gesundheit Dayspring, that was an innuendo! I’m rubbing off on you!” He wipes away an imaginary tear. “I’m so proud!

“Just for that,” he continues, “give me your knives when we get back to my place. I’ll sharpen them for you before you leave on your next lost cause of a mission.”

They turn and stroll on their way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later, when Logan sees Scott walking slowly back to the mansion, a stunned expression on his face, he narrows his eyes, scents the air, and then an immensely smug smirk spreads over his face.

“Told ya to leave them alone.”

**Author's Note:**

> Given Wolverine’s nose, it makes sense he’s 1) able to smell the pheromones pouring off people in lust or love, 2) tell who’s been sleeping together (scents of the two people + sex all mixed together), and 3) used to being discreet about it, because it’s really just too much trouble to get involved in all the ridiculous romantic drama going on every day.
> 
> So when he sees Nate and Wade heading into the gardens and smells lust _rolling_ off them, he realizes some things, but he sees no need to tell Scott.
> 
> And when he smells Scott with just a hint of Wade+Nate+sex, he knows someone got more of an eyefull than he'd wanted. >XD
> 
> Poem excerpts bastardized from _Because Love Battles_ by Pablo Neruda. [Here](https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/and-because-love-battles/), for example.
> 
> If you’re not up on it, Bobby = Iceman = has recently come out as gay.
> 
> I have done only limited reading of Emma. Hopefully she sounds right.
> 
> I can’t believe I just wrote established relationship fluff with a less than explicit rating. O_o I’m going soft in my old age.
> 
> I hope the movie brings in some new fans, because it’s a bit lonely on here. Echo? _Echooooo._ I will row this ship myself if I have to, but I’d rather have company.
> 
> I’m on tumblr at [withoutaconscienceorafilter](http://withoutaconscienceorafilter.tumblr.com/).


End file.
